Tom Clausen and
Jeanne Emrich, Judges
First Place ($100)
it wasn’t always so
the words and silences
that came between us
now I bring you irises
cut this morning in the rain
James Chessing
In this classic tanka, the poet masterfully brings us
through past strains and silences in a relationship to a present redemption,
beautifully expressed in the vivid images of the last two lines. The “I’ in
this verse has just cut a bouquet of irises as a gift for another, perhaps a
spouse or a parent. The act of giving the irises is a token of the renewed love
between these two people, as fresh and enchanting as “this morning” in the
garden. The rain itself becomes a kind of benediction upon the renewed
relationship.
Having come
to the end of the poem, we recycle through it again to be reminded that “it
wasn’t always so,” and we know that the poet is offering testimony that a
relationship can survive the rough spells and come out of them with a love
still capable of flourishing. This is the kind of poem that stays with you for
a long time, perhaps because the simple act of cutting irises in the rain for a
loved one brings an image of grace to the poem as to the relationship it
describes.
Second Place ($50)
hush of crickets
from familiar trees
we leave our home
of seventeen years
without fanfare
Margaret Chula
Portland, Oregon
Only the crickets appear to notice the family leaving
their home after seventeen years. Part of a life has been spent in this place
and all is familiar: the trees, the crickets, the lawn, the house. An era is
now over and a leave-taking is in progress—without fanfare. The hush of the
crickets is eloquent. But it is also symbolic of a sensate universe—all the
life around us, the birds, the animals, the people, and the very air itself
feel our comings and goings. This quiet awareness is the fanfare. We have only
to hear it.
Third Place ($25)
in twilight
by the beach fire
I shiver
thinking of the last time
you turned to wave goodbye
Susan Constable
Nanoose Bay, British Columbia
The beach fire in this verse could have sent the
observer into a deep meditation, as staring at fires can do. But instead of
soul-satisfying ruminations, this person’s psyche has been opened to the raw
memory of a painful moment, a moment until now probably repressed. The twilight
and the beach fire now take on different nuances—twilight being the objective
correlative of the end of the relationship and the fire being the passion or
pain involved. The “I shiver” is an excellent pivot, and we shiver, too, since
the poet has brought us to the very edge of this person’s psyche. We are there,
peering in and someone is waving a final goodbye.
Honorable
Mentions (In no particular order)
skipping
this year’s reunion—
I spend the afternoon
watching baby spiders
disperse
Seren Fargo
Bellingham, Washington
This verse is a fine example of imaginative
parallelism. Instead of revisiting the past at a school or family reunion to
learn what has happened to everyone as they have gone out into the world, the
voice/poet chooses to spend an afternoon witnessing a new generation of life
dispersing. The past and the present merge in the ever-recurring life cycle, no
matter what the species. The vivid image of the baby spiders focuses this verse
magnificently and suggests that we too are small and floating away on the wispy
strands of time
gone are sail winds
that came in the night
same as you
I knew we would end
on a still day in time
an’ya
La Pine, Oregon
Here is remorse made eloquent with a nautical simile.
The last line is a powerful launch into meditation on this poem and all it
suggests. Perhaps all such personal endings are a “still day in time”—where the
present moment and life’s hectic activities seem to be suspended while a
relationship comes to an end.
the new neighbor
I show him where to find
spring beauties
they don’t transplant well
I almost say
Carol Purington
Colrain, Massachusetts
The wry humor in this verse shows us that not only can
we see objective correlatives, we can practically trip over them, unexpectedly
embarrassing ourselves and others in a social situation. Is the new neighbor
one of those spring beauties that don’t transplant well? Better not even
suggest it! This tanka is very much in the tradition of the Japanese omoshiroki tei—“a witty or ingenious
treatment of a conventional topic,” as described by Jane Reichhold in her
article, “Teika’s Ten Tanka Techniques,” first published in the Tanka Society
of America journal, Ribbons, 6:1,
Spring, 2010.
1 lb. ground beef
1 cup chopped carrot,
celery, onion
far from home
I follow your recipe
Natalie Perfetti
This tanka speaks of the comfort and wisdom of family
culture, a culture found in the kitchen and handed down from generation to
generation in recipes and the memories attached to them, sentiment you can eat.
What makes this poem real is the details of the recipe— simple ingredients that
evoke the daily enjoyments of family life at mealtime. But it is the action of
following the recipe that is the true gift, as anyone who has ever inherited a
cookbook knows. Each flour-dusted, hands-on step taken draws the cook into a
metaphorical, even a ritualistic, recreation of bygone family life. It is your
mother speaking to you right there in your kitchen, even when you are far from
home.
The Tanka Society of America 2010 International Tanka
Contest received 285 entries. We would like to congratulate all the winning
poets and thank Carole MacRury for administrating the contest.
Contest Coordinator: Carole
MacRury